


The Ties That Bind

by Nalyra



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, Canon Compliant, Family, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Slice of Life, Yearning, mhbb2019, repercussions and resolutions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:57:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21542719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nalyra/pseuds/Nalyra
Summary: Sometimes the best of our future cannot be enjoyed fully without keeping a hold of the ties of the past. And sometimes those ties that bind actually set us free.(Major Character Death tag is not Hannibal or Will :))
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 22
Kudos: 157
Collections: MHBB2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sally_the_Chicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sally_the_Chicken/gifts).

> The wonderful @Sally-the-Chicken gifted my story with the most wonderful, incredibly fitting art, which legit made me cry so hard.... please go and shower her with love.  
It's in chapter 7. And it's utterly beautiful, if I may say so myself :)))
> 
> I cannot thank you enough, Sally, for this beauty.  
You gave this story brilliance.  
Thank you.

At some point living with Hannibal got _easy_.

And Will … started to fidget.

Life was eventful. Delightfully eventful and yet calm, all excitement by their own making.

_Their design._

Nights at the opera, in tuxedos, hiding in plain sight? A given.

Thrilling hunts, always adhering to the rules Will had set? As often as they dared, by unspoken agreement.

Moving houses and apartments without fuzz, always enough space to keep Will’s canine companions? Absolutely.

And lovemaking, delightfully dirty and breathtakingly intense, almost painfully emotional at times? More often then Will could count.

So. All was good in house Lecter-Graham.

Or was it.

Will rubbs his temples, another headache forming, another obscenity taking shape on his tongue.He can hear Hannibal moving around in the kitchen, preparing another meal for them, something vegetarian this time, something simple. Trying to pacify the unrest in Will no doubt.

Not even hinting at a hunt.

Which drove Will up the wall if he was honest.

_It can be infuriating to be seen so well._

Will sighs, tapping his foot, his gaze falling onto the sea outside their patio doors, the curtains billowing in the slight breeze. The water is opaque turquoise, brilliantly inviting.

Paradise.

_So why can’t I relax anymore?_

Will pushes himself up and out of the armchair, the mutt he picked up in their last hideout, Lilly,yawning and rolling over but too lazy to do more than wag his tail, the soft bumps echoing Will’s steps. He steps outside onto the terra-cotta terrace, inhaling deeply. The breeze ruffles his hair, cooling his skin, the loose white shirt fluttering around him.

“If Monet had seen you now, he would have sat down and painted you in all your glory.”

Will turns to Hannibal, his longish hair obscuring his sight, watching as Hannibal comes closer, slowly, on bare feet and silent, a smile on his lips. His eyes flit back and forth on Will’s and his hands have stilled fiddling with the kitchen towel, his gaze alert, tone gently chiding. “The brilliance of the Caribbean sky only tainted by the dark clouds you yourself conjure.”

Will groans, letting his head fall back, his gaze unseeing on the blue sky. “I know.” He shakes his head at himself, shrugging helplessly. “I know.” He straightens back up, grinning a wry, self-deprecating smile. “So, Doctor Lecter, what is your verdict?”

Hannibal smirks but looks down for a moment, his tone wistful. “We have moved to places you wanted to, the dog is an appreciated part of our lives, our food is diverse and I adhere to your wishes.” He grins, a bit salaciously. “I have tried to distract you by drawing you to physical pleasure. Rather successfully, albeit temporarily distracting only.”

Will snorts, rolling his shoulders. Hannibal watches him for a moment and then continues, his voice firm. “You will be 48 soon, Will. If I am not mistaken, your father’s birthday is next week.”

Will stills, his breathing shallow, hands dangling at his sides. He doesn’t dare to think, his mind blank, trained onto Hannibal’s words. Hannibal frowns and then continues, throwing the kitchen towel up over his shoulder. “He will be 80, won’t he.”

Will presses his lips together, nodding jerkily, blinking the sudden blur in front of his eyes away. Hannibal steps even closer, his hands coming up to gently rest on Will’s waist, his eyes glittering red in the sun. “And no way to reach him while eloping with me.”

A shudder runs through Will, and he turns his face away, unseeing, his face a grimace of pain. It takes three tries, three inhales and aborted starts to get the words out, the syllables grating on his tongue. “Never doubt that I want this, Hannibal.”

A chuckle and Will looks back to one of Hannibal’s rare, full and easy smiles, eyes crinkled and expression fully devoid of malice, only joy shining through. His fingertips press gently, his voice carrying his love, hurting Will in a rather good way. “I know, Will.”

He presses forward and ghosts a kiss onto Will’s temple and it soothes some of the pain, some of the nervousness, Will’s eyes closing, hands coming up to rest on Hannibal’s arms. Hannibal hums and whispers against his skin, words tickling Will’s skin. “Why don’t you ask Chiyoh for a chain of email forwarding? We are far away but I’m sure this William Graham’s father is absolutely capable of writing an email.”

Will freezes and then leans back a bit, staring into Hannibal’s eyes, his voice bordering on incredulous. “They will be monitoring him. It could put us in danger.”

Hannibal shrugs and some of the shark-like quality re-enters his smile, his teeth suddenly sharp. “Let them.” He sobers, his fingers pressing now, his tone low. “This has gone too long and if we let it become an issue to go unresolved it has the power to fester, slowly destroying from within. I will not let this happen.”

He catches Will’s lips in a bruising kiss for just a moment, his stubble chafing and then he is gone, leaving Will standing in the midday sun, his mind racing. Will closes his eyes for a moment and then reopens them to look at the MacBook at the far end of the living room, sitting rather innocently on the desk.

It will be dangerous. And reckless. Stupid even.

_How fast can Chiyoh set it up?_

Will swallows and then smiles, exhaling in a rush.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hi Dad…”

Deleted.

“Dad, this is Will…”

Deleted.

“Long time no see, I guess…”

Deleted.

Will stares at the blinking cursor, cursing silently. Hannibal comes over and exchanges Will’s now cold coffee with a new hot one, sauntering away again without as much as one word and Will glares daggers at his receding back, his jaw locked. So stupid, really. This shouldn’t be hard.

_I’ve just not talked to him in more or less 20 years, no big deal._

Will groans and rubs his eyes, leaning back in the soft leather chair. He wonders absentmindedly if it may be the very same as the one back in Hannibal’s office, or if it is a copy. He wouldn’t put getting it from FBI storage past Hannibal. _Stop. Procrastinating. _Will groans through clenched teeth, cursing just under his breath.

_Fine_.

His fingers hover over the keyboard and he tries to empty his mind, the breeze from outside tickling his skin and then the words come, finally, as if by themselves. He doesn’t think, doesn’t dare to retract, just lets them flow, the small sounds a staccato beat, filling their living room.

_“I know I haven’t been writing for a long time, but I hope this finds you well, Dad. Life, as you may know, has been quite, how do I put this, eventful. I am well though. More than well. It’s not a path I thought I would take back when I was in the force, that’s for sure. And yet. It’s somehow the path that fulfills me, quiets my mind._

_And isn’t that a weird thing? My mind finally quiet? Remember all those years in school, when I was mobbed, treated like a freak, my inability to distinguish between reality and fantasy at times frightening all the other kids? In every damned school we went to. Always the loner, always the new kid. Always the freak. _

_All those tests. All those doctors, trying to peek into my head. _

_Oh no, I don’t blame you. Honestly, I don’t. Just… it was never quiet up there. Not even when Mom was still there. And yeah, the peace and quiet is addictive. _

_No matter. But you will probably understand why, I guess. _

_How are you Dad? How’s the fish? Still biting? Do you still take the boat out by yourself? _

_I miss my Nola. _

_I had to leave her in Portugal a few years back when I went after Hannibal. I guess the FBI has it now. But then again I am sitting on a chair that I am pretty sure was part of an evidence collection at some point too, so maybe my information on that is outdated. I should probably ask him about it at some point. But then, maybe not, because he might want to make it a surprise. Guess I should practice being surprised then.”_

Will stops, realizing with a start that he is smiling, feeling lighter than he has for weeks. He looks up at Hannibal over in the kitchen _where else_ the soft music drifting over soothingly familiar. _Vivaldi_. He inhales and looks down again, his fingers starting typing once more as if by themselves.

_“It’s weirdly nice living with him. I know that probably sounds weird by itself. But he knows me so well, we are like different sides of the same coin. Jack called it ‘identically different’ in some kind of TV interview at some point and he is correct, we are. Oh, sorry, I mean Jack Crawford, but then you probably guessed that. I wonder if he will read this email when you have received it. Did they haunt you for long? I have no doubt that there are still officers seated outside, somewhere, maybe not that close anymore, but there. At a diner maybe. Cursing their fate.”_

Will pauses, chuckling to himself, his mind conjuring the image easily. _Lemon tart and bad coffee._ He sniffs, still grinning, hitting the next keys.

_“No, but really I hope they didn’t give you too much trouble. God knows they should know better than to think we would come by and endanger you. You know that this is why we haven’t come by, don’t you? I really don’t want to drag you into this mess I made of my life - wanted or not. Speaking of drag and mess, last week we happened to find ourselves in a pride parade - and there was this wonderful drag queen who took a liking to Hannibal, literally trying to get into his lap. I do think she… I think that’s the right pronoun but I guess I better go with ‘they’ now, well they were quite a bit drunk and managed to ignore the skunk eye Hannibal gave them. And I, Dad, I just stood by and grinned at them, watching Hannibal’s hair get totally mussed and full of glitter. I’m still giggling when I think about it. Such a delight to see Hannibal so beleaguered and out of his so famous and oh so important depth. He’s giving me the skunk eye now, I wonder if he can distinguish the key sounds and therefore deduct what I write? I wouldn’t put it past him, to be honest. The bastard. _

_Anyways, I am… happy I guess. Most of the time. _

_It is weird, when I had the opportunity to reach out, and easily I never did. _

_We could have met up after all. For Christmas, maybe. Or your birthday._

_But we never did. _

_Why is that, Dad?_

_Is her memory still so painful?_

_Or is it mine that poisons our interactions, nourishing the silences. _

_I drink way less now. Whiskey, that is. Wine I drink a lot more but then they always fit the meals and it would be truly rude not to savor the flavors. And rudeness is a thing uncalled for, these days. Well, mostly. Surprisingly Hannibal is pretty lenient about my, what did you call it?, tenacious and biting sass. There are times when he actually actively encourages it. Leading oftentimes to other things but I definitely won’t talk to you about those. _

_Yeah. That’s interesting, too, isn’t it. Didn’t really see that coming either. Well, no, I guess I saw something coming, I’m not stupid. And he was already very interested way back then. But I didn’t think -I- would fall for him, to be honest, I never really anticipated feeling all this and… it crept up on me. And still, with all the shit we put each other through it came to the point where I felt I couldn’t breathe… I couldn’t breathe properly without him. _

_I hid his letters away, like a dirty secret in my underwear drawer._

_Molly deserved so much better. _

_But then, I did mean to make it work with her. I did._

_It’s just… When I entered that literal crypt Alana had set up for the first time I tried to shield myself from him, tried to not feel. _

_Quite in vain._

_Jack Crawford threw me to the wolves and he knows it. _

_But I am good with dogs and now I’m one with the pack._

_It’s pretty fitting we left our old lives behind under the moon and splattered with blood._

_Have they figured out how we did it yet?_

_I’ve seen some theories by Freddie Lounds which were pretty close but nothing hit the mark. _

_I wonder what your theory is. You, with all the knowledge of all my childhood adventures and problems, the things I built and the fights I got into. And those I managed to avoid by letting my pendulum swing and analyze all the things that would weaken my opponent._

_I miss the long hours we would sit at the lake and we would talk quietly, your wisdom flowing with your words. _

_I would love to do that again. _

_I miss you.”_

Will stares at the blinking cursor, his mind curiously calm, an emotional exhaustion spreading through him, making him slump back in the chair, the leather squeaking softly.

“Don’t you wish to send it, mylimasis?”

Will exhales, blinking slowly and then looking up, Hannibal’s gaze dark and unfathomable deep, alert and understanding, watching him calmly. Will licks his lips, eyes flitting away for a moment before they return to Hannibal’s, like a moth to the flame. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

Hannibal grins sharply and then comes over and around the table, the steps soft and non-intrusive. He bends down to press a kiss onto Will’s head and then reaches forward, pushing the mouse towards the send button. He lets his finger hover there and bends down further, blocking Will’s view and then kisses Will, his lips tasting lightly tart, courtesy of the wine he has obviously tasted. When they part Hannibal’s eyes stay closed, his breath carrying his answer. “No.”

He reopens his eyes and Will leans forward and kisses him in earnest now, pushing in, chasing the taste of them, the elixir that is as elusive as addictive, the desire for it never to be sated. He hears the small ‘click’ and groans into Hannibal’s mouth, his hand coming up to pull at Hannibal’s shirt, uncaring, pulling him down into the chair with him despite Hannibal’s muffled protests.

Will wonders for a split second if the chair will hold but then he dismisses the thought, the fire spreading through his veins a lot more important than mere possessions after all.


	3. Chapter 3

Days pass.

Will stops pacing in front of the open MacBook after three of them, after Hannibal’s eyebrow has reached a level of raised that unnerves him even more than the empty inbox folder.

_Fine then._

He takes Lilly for a run on the beach, exhausting them both and finally shaking off some of the anxiety that had kept him in a steel grip ever since Hannibal had sent the email off.

The open MacBook awaits him when he returns and icy dread returns in full force within a split second, gripping his throat and twisting his guts. Warm hands settle on his shoulders and Hannibal starts to knead them, gently and then more strongly, slowly making each and every strand of muscle uncoil. “Expectations are what hurt us, more often than the truth.”

Will lets his head fall back, resting it against against Hannibal’s right shoulder for a moment. “Have you read it?”

Hannibal’s hands tighten on his shoulders and he slowly turns Will by light pressure, adapting his grip so he holds them again when Will is facing him, his tone very low, with a careful note to it. “There is no mail yet. I wanted to invite you to write some more.”

Will pulls away abruptly, pulling a face. Hannibal sighs, his tone sharpening a bit. “You cannot force a behavior without previously agreed rules, Will. Maybe your father does not check his emails every day. Maybe he is mulling over your words. Maybe he needs to stomach the shock.” He tilts his head, his eyes seizing Will. “He is fine though, I had Chiyoh check on him, just in case.”

Will swallows and then nods, relief and disappointment chasing each other in his chest. He inhales, looking away for a moment, eyes unseeing on the wall. “Thank you for checking. I…”, he hesitates, grimacing, “I guess I will write him a bit more.” He turns, his tone turning dry. “After the shower maybe.”

Hannibal chuckles, drawing a finger down Will’s back, making it erupt in goosebumps. “May I join you?”

Will lets his head drop a bit with a grin, reaching back for Hannibal’s hand.

*******

_“Hi Dad, it’s me once more._

_Hannibal has been bugging me to write you again, and, he’s probably right. _

_I do hope you read this. As I write Lilly has fallen asleep on my left foot, exhausted after our run on the beach. She’s a mutt we picked up last time we moved. She was a little dirty fluff ball in a corner of that pretty blue and white harbor decor. It took three weeks to clean her all up but now she is adapting nicely. _

_Only one dog now, yes, who would have thought. And I’m happy with that, though I sometimes miss the pack. Logically I know most of them have passed away of course, and that Molly took good care of them. Still, I miss them, the peace of mind they managed to give me back then. _

_Do you remember the time I was on the force? Down in New Orleans? No peace of mind then. I sometimes wonder how my life would have turned out if I had indeed been able to pull that trigger back then. Would this thing inside me have been awakened then as well? Or would it have shattered me back then, as it almost did when it finally happened? Or, maybe, would the slaps and support of my colleagues have been enough to support me, hold me up enough? What if I’d actually made myself at home there, took Anita up on her constant flirting. _

_I’d never have met him._

_I bet you would prefer that. _

_There were times, back in that prison where he put me that I pondered this. Heavily. _

_I wouldn’t have been that much of the ‘talk in the psychiatric circles’ then either. Not without that incident. Not without the consulting. My juvenile data was locked, and the things you don’t know don’t interest you after all. So. No interest of one Hannibal Lecter in silly old me. _

_I wonder if I would have kids. I mean, I don’t know if you heard that at some point or another, but once… Once there was the chance for one. It was…”_

Will stops, breathing heavily suddenly. _Some wounds do not heal. _He gets up, his hand shaking, throat dry. He leaves the desk and walks over into the kitchen, refilling his coffee cup. _Margot’s and Alana’s son will be 6 now. Our child would have been 10._ He puts the refilled cup down with a careful, deliberate motion, the taste in his mouth a foul thing. He rubs his hand over his shirt, along the line of the scar on his stomach under it, the surrogate abortion scar, the one he got as punishment over 9 years ago, in the event that took Abigail from him as well.

He shakes his head once, trying to regain his equilibrium, glad that Hannibal isn’t here right now.

_Speaking of whom… where is he?_ He sighs and picks up his cup again, ascending the stairs slowly, the upper floor of their house a huge loft-like bedroom, the bathroom the only thing separated off.

Hannibal is lying on the bed, in shorts, shirt open, reading, his skin dipped in the warm glow of the sun. He smiles in greeting but does not look up, a testament to the level of relaxation they have reached with each other, indeed. “What are you reading?”

“A brief history of time.”

“Again?”

Hannibal looks up, blinking a bit too innocently up at Will. “Maybe one time I will yet be able to finish the calculations.”

_Hmmm._

Will sits down next to him, shuffling until he can recline next to Hannibal, his clothed legs looking way overdressed next to Hannibal’s naked ones. He licks his lips, trying to figure out how to breach the subject and then just blurting out, uncaring, “Do you still want to change our life then?”

Hannibal closes the book with a small sigh through his nose, his gaze finding the horizon through the window. “There are things I would do differently, as you know.”

Will blinks. “They wouldn’t lead us here.”

A dry click as Hannibal swallows. “No, they wouldn’t.”

Will frowns. “And yet…”

Hannibal sighs again and then turns onto his side, facing Will. His tone is low. “Sometimes I wonder what your and Margot’s child would have looked like. What a beautiful girl you would have had.”

_Girl_.

Will exhales in a rush, his words harsh. “So it wasn’t enough to kill it, but you had to know what could have been, too.”

“Will.” Hannibal’s voice is low, apologetic. Firm. Sincere.

Will sighs. “I’m sorry. I just wrote about it to my Dad, I don’t know why.”

Hannibal closes the book, his index finger keeping the page, his gaze wistful on the ocean. “We all feel mortality creeping up to us, especially when we are prompted to think about it.” A small smile graces his lips, there and gone again and Will blinks, inhaling deeply, listening closely to Hannibal’s words. “We will not leave a biological footprint, Will, that is true.” Hannibal looks down and places the book on his nightstand before he turns onto his side, facing Will. “The footprint we will leave is much harsher though, much more beautiful and lasting than this. We will be notorious, infamous, spoken of in hushed voices, lectured and written about.”

Will interjects, his tone dry. “Even more than now you mean.”

Hannibal chuckles, reaching to place his right hand onto Will’s stomach. _Just over the scar._

“There’s only four books so far. I hope we will reach a few more, eventually.”

Will closes his eyes for a long moment, his voice sounding faraway. “Notorious was never something I aspired to…”

Hannibal smirks gently, lowering his head to push his forehead against Will’s shoulder for a moment. _He’s really like a cat._ “And then you eloped with me.”

Will smiles, a brittle smile that touches on many things, most unsaid but always understood. “And then I eloped with you.” He swallows, his eyes staring unseeing. His voice is low. “I think I want to go to this Cello concert you mentioned.” He pauses, turning to Hannibal, his gaze a blue flame. “I’d like to tell my Dad all about it.”

Something changes in Hannibal, like the uncoiling of a spring, though his outward appearance stays unchanged. _The predator awakens. _There is a red glint in his eyes as he answers after a moment, his words an awed whisper. “Very well, mylimasis. What a lovely prospect to look forward to.”


	4. Chapter 4

Will pulls out the undone bow-tie, very glad to be freed of the restriction on his throat. The concert had been lovely, the pompous outside location a wonderful enhancement to the music, the lighting just low enough to be able to hold Hannibal’s hand in public.

Not that Hannibal would shy away from public displays of affection. But normally Will would, to a certain extent for fear of recognition, but tonight he had felt freer and more relaxed than in literal months.

_And why is that? Because you made up your mind, you fool._

Will shakes his head at himself, pouring himself a generous amount of the incredible rum Hannibal had procured the other day. _Never thought I’d prefer it to whiskey, one day._

He sits down at the desk with a small sigh, crossing his legs, fiddling a bit with the glass, slowly trying to sort his thoughts. _Where was I?_

_Very well. _He opens the MacBook, taking a sip and setting the glass down with a little clink.

_“It was a child I was used for and then offered to care for, one almost instantly lost in the ignorant wheels of ambition and arrogance. Who knows. I wasn’t made for the high-class life-style, even if I would have only needed to enter it on the sidelines, though Hannibal does his best to adapt me to it. Some of it isn’t bad, I guess. The bow-ties are. Hannibal still has his very ‘loud’ ones, you know, he was famous for his suits and ties and bow-ties, and he has this black satin one with turquoise speckles. It’s ugly as hell. But I bought it for him as a joke years ago and now he insists on wearing it from time to time. Gosh, I wish I could show you a picture. Even with matching handkerchief that looks so… I think he thinks it makes me happy, no matter how he looks for once. And, guess I think he’s right, because I always feel a bit exasperated but very … fond of him when he pulls it out. _

_He’s just a marshmallow. Or, you know, he can be. Amongst other things._

_He wore it this night, to a Cello opera in the Tuscan countryside. Very lovely. There were so many stars in the sky when we drove back, though the hour-long-ride in the cabriolet has totally messed up my hair. If it wouldn’t be for his preference I guess I’d cut it off, but… no. It’s a small concession, really. Especially since he likes to brush them out. _

_Like Mom did, back then. I’m not going to tell him that though._

_He’s calling to me now, so I’ll end this here. I need to take Lilly for a walk anyways. _

_I hope we will talk soon._

_Will.”_

Will stares at the screen for a long, long time before he hits send and drowns the rest of his rum in one long swallow. He looks up at the antlered shadow in the doorway to the unlit kitchen, the red eyes consuming him, as always. There is the whisper of an exhale and words, like the ruffle of feathers, tinged with razors. “No worries, beloved. He is your father after all.”

Will frowns, knowing Hannibal knows that this is exactly _why_ he worries.

And that it only serves to excite him.

_And me._

*******

The air is stale with discharged energy, the breathless anticipation digging itself into Will’s gut.

It has only been a week.

Since that email.

And now, by channels he doesn’t deign to investigate further, Chiyoh has informed him, that his father will arrive on the 2:43pm train, platform 4. Today.

_Guess the clues were easy enough._

The snake of anticipation curls and uncurls, while Will tries desperately to keep his foot from wipping up and down. He sneaks a look at Hannibal, serenely in beige to his right, sitting seemingly relaxed with a newspaper in his hand. Seemingly.

Will can see the little twitches in the corners of his eyes, there, again. The slightly elevated pulse, something truly uncommon. The way he stays too long on one page.

Hannibal is just as nervous about meeting Will’s father as Will is.

_Meeting family is always hard on the nerves._

The train whistles outside the station and Will’s head shoots up, his hands suddenly clammy.

He watches as the wagons roll in, his mind a static of turbulent thoughts, wordless and cacophonic.

The train screeches to a stop, people hustling by, trying to get to the doors. Will brushes his sweaty palms off on the soft cloth of his pants, pushing himself up slowly. Next to him Hannibal folds his newspaper away very slowly, the very image of lofty indifference. Will chuckles to himself, a bit hysterically, swallowing the mirth down again right after.

He stands there, stock-still, waiting, trying to find a familiar sight.

Endless minutes pass, only measured by the increasingly frantic beat of his heart.

_Did Jack manage to intercept the emails? _

_Did he catch my Dad wanting to leave? _

_Dammit!_

_I should have asked Chiyoh which wagon he travels in. _

_I should have picked him up earlier at the airport. _

_I should have…_

A whiff of ‘Old Spice’ reaches him and Will whirls around, his mind blank, eyes huge, his heart hammering. Blue-gray eyes smirk at him, the man smaller than remembered, white hair and sunken cheeks, simple clothes and still dirty nails. The world wavers and the tears fall, suddenly and unheeded, and Will falls forward, embracing the man before him, the sob he feels stuck somewhere in his chest. He needs to swallow three times to get the words out, his nose pressed to rough cloth and wrinkled skin, the weight of Hannibal’s hand in the middle of his back giving him just enough gravity not to loose his equilibrium. “Hey, Dad. Happy belated birthday.”

Steven Graham chuckles and Will can feel the vibrations in his body, traveling through him, carrying relaxation in their wake. Hannibal starts rubbing circles with his thumb and his father pats him on the shoulder after a moment, drawing a bit back. The eyes are still sparkling, still steely and Will has a flashback to his childhood, when those eyes meant the known world. Now they measure him for a moment, before flitting over his shoulder at Hannibal and then back to Will’s own, his father’s voice a bit brittle but still strong. And heavy on sarcasm. “Hello, son. We might want to relocate. I’m pretty sure someone took a look at those emails.”

Will barks a surprised laugh, sniffing through the tears, his hair flying as he nods energetically. He closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply and then steps back fully, giving his father a small smile. “We know. Did he give you trouble?”

Steven Graham shrugs, a bit peevishly. Will wonders what mannerisms Hannibal will find in them both, what characteristics will be analyzed or stored away for later. Because Hannibal is very quiet behind them, rather uncharacteristically, just watching them both, not interfering. His hand still on Will’s back. _Trying to connect._ He clears his throat. “Dad, you know… him.” He turns his head a bit, smiling at the apparently genial man at his back. He keeps his voice low even though the sounds of the station envelop them in their own sound bubble. “Hannibal Lecter, my…”, he hesitates, trying to find the proper adjective without needing to resort to anything Freddie Lounds coined at some point, “I guess partner is the correct term these days.”

The word tastes foul in Will’s mouth and there is a kind of instant revulsion he can feel from Hannibal as well, the word too flat, too bland for anything they share. _We never talk about what exactly we are to each other… as close as we are… _

There is a twitch in Hannibal’s jaw and Will grimaces, refocusing, intending to further explain but Hannibal bends forward, reaching for Steven’s hand, accepting Will’s phrasing, for now. “My pleasure, Mr. Graham. May I call you Steven? I welcome you to our life.”

_Not the city. Not house. Not table. _Will blinks at the phrasing, noting its importance. _We are so much more than mere partners or even life partners. _Will swallows. His father leans forward, silently shaking Hannibal’s hand, nodding his assent to the question. Hannibal smiles a small smile, with enough of the predator in it to send a shiver down Will’s spine. “Thank you, Steven.Please call me Hannibal. May I assure you that you are utterly safe with us. “ Hannibal hesitates, shooting a quick look at Will. “Whether Jack Crawford may have followed you, or not.”

He smiles fully at that, stepping back to indicate the exit with his arm, his tone conversational. “In fact, I hope he did. He makes for excellent entertainment. Please, Steven, let us retire to our home.”

Will looks at his Dad and shrugs at him and Steven raises his left eyebrow for a moment, returning the shrug. His tone is dry. “Well then. Let’s go, son. I hear there will be excellent food.” He hesitates, grimacing. “Do I need to worry about the meat?”

_Right and unerringly to the point._

Will closes his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose. He reaches for Hannibal’s shoulder, Hannibal’s muscles locked under the seemingly easy contenance of genial camaraderie. He squeezes a bit and waits until Hannibal relaxes a fraction again before he addresses his Dad, bending down to take the suitcase. “Nope, all good, Dad. Everything organic.” _“For you”_, he doesn’t add, but he decides that this may be a discussion for a wholly different time. “Let’s go.”


	5. Chapter 5

“You look good.”

Will smiles wryly, looking up from making up the guest bed. Fidgeting a bit. “Do I?”

His Dad nods, slowly putting his clothing into the dressers, shooting sideways looks at Will. “You do. And I don’t mean the clothes, mind you. You look well fed and kept. Easy.” Steven grins. “Like a pampered husband.” Will looks away, unable to say anything. _Do I? -AM- I? _

Steven Graham chuckles and it end in a long cough, making Will look up in alarm. “Never mind, boy, just an infection I had and I still carry some of it around. “ He winks at Will. “The doctor was quite pleased when I told her that I would relocate to a warmer climate for some time. She’s been telling me to move to Florida for years.”

Will snorts, relaxing a bit again. “Hannibal is a good doctor, Dad. He’ll take good care of you.”

Steven Graham pushes himself up, grimacing and putting his hands to his back while rolling his shoulders a bit. “As long as he doesn’t ‘take care’ of me.”

Will rolls his eyes, his tone the tiniest bit sour. “No worries, Dad, if that would need to happen, I would be the one to take care of you, I assure you. And besides, I would have Hannibal’s hide for something like that.” No response. Will looks up, exhaling in a rush when he perceives his Dad’s expression. “No worries, ok? You’re welcome here.”

Steven Graham harrumphs, mumbling to himself, his bony but still nimble fingers fidgeting. He presses his lips together for a moment, his tone low. “So you really are his … partner then. Even in that? Just as they say? These… obnoxious reporters, especially that redhead, I think Freddie’s her name, she tried to shock me with juicy details, even showed me the film that ‘Dragon’ made.”

That makes Will raise his own eyebrows, his tone incredulous. “She has access to the film?”

His father leans close, his eyes sparkling a bit mischievously. “I think she stole it.”

Will frowns, smoothing down the duvet, his thoughts in turmoil. “Did she say anything of where she got it from? From the FBI? Or … “ He hesitates, a shiver running down his back. _Or was she at the cliff house? Did she take it from there?_

His father’s voice pulls him back from his thoughts, colored with humor. “No, she didn’t say. But I know the FBI wondered a lot as to how you disappeared and what exactly happened there. Of course they have the crime scene itself, but the film must be quite different. I think she stole it from there.”

Will turns towards him, at a loss as to what to say. _This explains a lot. Especially why we were able to escape via boat so easily._

He swallows. “I’m sorry you had to watch Hannibal lay bleeding on the floor and our… discussion. And the sounds, after, I guess.”

_Our hunt._

_Our consummation._

_Our leap of faith._

His Dad closes the last drawer and puts the suitcase into a corner. “Oh no, it contains the whole fight, Will. I mean, it’s dark, but you’re wearing white and … you charged at the Dragon. You took him down together.” He hesitates, his voice rumbling. “Must’ve been quite an experience, I guess.”

Will shakes his head, drawing a hand down his face in irritation. “Sorry, Dad, but that’s impossible? The camera was facing the other way when he stabbed me. He threw me out then and followed me, I heard his steps, he didn’t have the time to reposition the…”

_Ah._

_The bastard._

_And he took the blazer off, too._

Will shakes his head, looking at his Dad in consternation. His Dad returns the gaze a bit peevishly, spreading his hands. “He pulled himself off the floor as soon as the ‘Dragon’ turned. Then he carefully positioned the camera, and then hurried after you.” He shrugs. “I think he threw his blazer somewhere into the direction of the kitchen. And the rest…”

Will interjects, his tone dry. “Is history.”

His Dad sighs. “Indeed.”

Steven Graham sinks into the small chair off to the side, his form suddenly frail and looking his age. He looks at his fingernails for a moment, his tone wistful. “He won’t like my finger nails dirty at the table, will he.”

Will grimaces, turning towards the door. “No, he won’t. Wait, I’ll get water and soap.”

******

“This is delicious.”

“Thank you Steven, it is an old recipe of my mother’s side that I find pleases me in times of heightened trepidation. I’m glad you find it to your tastes.”

Will narrows his eyes, spearing a little morsel of chicken filet, tickled by the overly formal and yet uncharacteristically clear phrasing. He takes a sip of his wine to wash it down, watching Hannibal and his father sit there, very stiff, very polite. _Very_ uncomfortable.

He shakes his head, deciding to take the conversation into his own hands. “So I take my little clues weren’t too hard to decode?”

Steven Graham reaches for another piece of bread, smirking, laugh lines reshaping his wrinkled face. “Not really, son. At first I was a bit irritated by your mail, you know. Very long time no see, indeed. But then I reread it a few times and then… “, Steven hesitates, pushing his sautéd onions around for a moment, “ but then I realized I liked reading it and …”

Another pause and Hannibal finishes it, his tone slightly tinged with his psychiatrist mode. “And then you realized that being with family outweighs the concerns of the mundane mortal realm.”

Steven clears his throat, his tone grumpy. “Yes. And I looked up where you might have love parades in a certain time frame, and outside concerts. Et cetera. You can be just glad I took a computer course at the community college a few years back because I wanted to be able to research fishing grounds online.” He takes a sip of his wine and smacks his lips, making Will grin, memories of childhood popping up. He reaches for his own wine. Steven grins and addresses Will, his tone conspirational and delighted. “So, son, have you ripped your significant other another one yet?”

Will splutters, trying not to make a mess, coughing to get his breathing back under control. _Significant other. Better. But not fitting either, somehow. _His “DAD!” comes out much too indignant. Steven grins, toasting him, before addressing Hannibal. “Reading all those articles and talking to those reporters and the FBI… you must be quite the mastermind. Still, that thing with the camera…” All humor vanishes from Steven’s tone, icy steel entering it instead. “I know you hurt my boy before and you don’t think twice about it, but that was quite an unnecessary risk. Quite egomaniacal of you.”

Hannibal’s eyes are almost glowing in the low light, his red eyes fixed on Steven’s unblinking. Will cannot breathe, his mind sluggish and yet panicky. A long moment passes and then Hannibal speaks in measured tones, belying his emotions, which Will can feel branding up to him, wild and tumultuous. “I assure you, Steven, I do think ‘twice’ about it.” He hesitates, turning his knife for a moment, his gaze dropping down to it, before flashing up too Will. “These days, at least.” He clears his throat, readdressing Steven and Will feels a bit faint, way out of his depth. “Some of my past decisions regarding your son were misguided, born out of previous behavioral patterns and unsavory influence.”

Will snorts, feeling a jab of bewildered amusement, and a deep gratitude for how far they have come, emotionally and in honesty, since then. He raises his glass again, his eyebrows raising, the almost invisible scar on his forehead itching for a split second. “What a fitting name for Bedelia.”

Hannibal looks at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Indeed.” He licks his lips, his tone serious again. “Repositioning the camera was a spur of the moment decision, Will. Our chances were there, but slim, if the outcome had been different, I wanted to create a”, he tilts his head, his lips twitching, “keepsake.”

Will clicks his tongue, tone dry. “For whoever would survive.”

Hannibal shrugs, the motion weirdly elegant. “Yes.”

Will sighs, taking a sip of his own wine, his tone wistful, deciding to be honest with himself. “I would love to see that film of our moment, so long ago already.”

Steven drowns his glass, shrugging, his tone somewhat careless. “I think if you reach out to Freddie as you did to me she would be happy to oblige… for some kind of deal, obviously.”

Hannibal hums, weighing his head for a moment, not speaking. Will shrugs, deadpan. “Guess we’ll have to buy some digital equipment after all, dear. The iPad won’t do for this, will it.”

It’s not a question, visions of a darkened room popping up, their fight the only thing illuminating. Will cannot stop his heart from racing, his body responding to the memory.

_Maybe we could reenact parts of it. _

_Change the outcome to what it should have been._

Arousal threads through and Will tries to relax, refusing to meet his father’s sparkling and knowing eyes across the table. _Parents. Dammit._

Hannibal’s words draw him out of his reverie, his voice deceptively kind. “Speaking of old sins though, Steven, why did you allow the Doctors of Will’s childhood to abuse him like that?”

And just like that Will feels quite sober again, instinctual revulsion killing any positive emotion. Steven leans back in his chair, his face suddenly very old and tired, swirling his wine around in his glass. He clears his throat. “You really know how to twist a knife, Hannibal.” He hesitates, looking away to the side and Will watches his profile, flashes of times long gone behind his eyes. He blinks rapidly, refusing to think about the reason, refocusing on his father when he continues speaking. “We had just lost Will’s mother and I was simply overwhelmed with and by Will already. Not his fault. Mine. Still, when he started showing signs of his… abilities…” Steven hesitates, his eyes flitting up to Will’s for a moment before he looks down again. His tone is apologetic. “I didn’t know how to help myself. So I asked the Doctors.”

Will swallows. He can feel the intense burning of Hannibal’s curiosity brandish up to him, scorching his right side. For once though Hannibal waits, and Will smiles a brittle smile, recognizing the kindness behind the hesitancy. He swallows, his lids lowered, his tone low. “She was always sad, caused by what we think was a post-departure depression. However, it was a car accident that killed her.”

Steven interjects, his words heated. “A stupid little man, running to a stupid little job.”

Will pulls a grimace, reaching for his glass. “Running over a red light.” He shrugs. “I was five.”

He inhales deeply, his smile turning true for a moment, his tone gently teasing. “Finally could satisfy that curiosity, right?” He flashes Hannibal a full smile for an instant, his eyes sparkling sadly and yet a bit mischievously. “Should’ve asked me for my father back then.”

Hannibal inclines his head, his expression a mix of amusement and grave emphasizing. “Probably.” He clicks his tongue. “One more of the things I would know better now.”

Steven Graham takes a big sip of his wine, looking back and forth between them, his weathered skin lightly rosy from the wine. “As you should know better than to taunt Jack Crawford?”

Will closes his eyes, cringing inwardly. He really has to discuss ‘tone’ with his Dad. Hannibal’s answering tone is amused and yet sharp, carrying a note of the predator and Will reopens his eyes, shooting him a warning look, which Hannibal ignores. “We have been very good, Steven, as you might know. And so life has been almost tranquil.” He smiles, his fangs glinting for a split second. “And now it will become deliciously delightful once more.”

Steven Graham narrows his eyes, serious. “You truly believe he will follow me here?”

Will leans back in his chair, fishing his phone from his pocket. He ignores Hannibal’s reprimanding look, swiping to open the app. He clicks his tongue. “According to the mail we got two hours ago, he has left the US on a plane to Naples.” He looks up, raising an eyebrow. “He’ll probably want to catch a connecting fight.”

Hannibal puts his glass down, his eyes sparkling. “Excellent.”

Steven harrumphs, his voice a bit grumpy. “I feel a bit used.”

Hannibal chuckles, shooting Will an amused look before he addresses Steven. “Only in a secondary fashion, I can assure you. You being here was our primary concern.” He reaches over and laces his left hand fingers through Will’s right, squeezing lightly. “Will has missed you.”

The world blurs suddenly, Will’s eyes glazing over. He strokes his thumb over Hannibal’s and then lets go, pushing back. He swallows and walks out, unable to articulate why, his heart beating a thousand beats an hour.

******

Steven finds him in front of the fireplace a short while later, the flickering lights illuminating Will’s empty expression. He sinks down onto the small sofa next to Will, nipping on his whiskey, quiet.

Time passes.

Will soaks up the smell and warmth, his mind calming down in increments. Eventually speech returns, his words carrying the bitter truth, tumbling out of him. “I really missed you. I didn’t think I would ever see you again. I thought I had made my peace with that. I thought I had decided.”

His Dad smiles, nudging Will’s shoulder with his own. “Didn’t you?”

Will chuckles, helplessly shrugging his shoulders. “I have. And yet.” He shoots a look at the old man next to him. “I have pondered mortality quite a lot these last years, Dad. My impeding one.” He hesitates, his voice gruff. “Dealing it to our victims.”

His father stiffens next to him and Will smiles grimly, forcing himself to continue. “Yes, Dad. I have hunted.” He inhales, straightening up a bit. “And I look forward to the one that shapes up to happen soon.”

Steven Graham frowns. “You hate Jack Crawford that much?”

Will exhales, shaking his head. “No. I do not hate him.” He swallows, forcing himself to speak the truth. “Not anymore.”

“Then why?”

Will smiles, a sharp smile that he can feel biting into his cheeks, his scar pulling a bit, still. “Why? Jack has been the one to sacrifice me, Dad. He knew. I knew. Lamb of God. What a joke. And now he hunts us. Still. After all these years. He knows what he is getting into. He is entering this game willingly.”

Steven Graham pulls a hand down over his face, scrubbing it. He shakes his head for a moment. “Fine. So I guess Jack Crawford has it coming.” He swallows. “Explain the hunting of other people to me for a moment though. Why, Will? Why do you share an activity like killing with a freaking cannibal? You, the one chasing after justice for so long.”

Will smiles grimly, his eyes heavily lidded while he watches the flames. “I still am, in a way at least, Dad.” He shoots a look at his father, his expression lofty and cool. “I choose, Dad. I choose the ones we hunt.”

His father grunts, his tone sharp. “And you think they have it coming.”

Will clicks his tongue, irritated suddenly, pushing himself up, waving his hand to indicate to his Dad to stay put. He crosses the room, pulling a manila folder out of the side cabinet. He ponders it for a moment, and then returns to the sofa, holding it out for his father to take. His voice is low when his Dad opens it slowly, his fingers shaking. “My reasonings. I’ve researched and documented every single case, well almost every one. I didn’t research the man who tried to rob us in Cape Town.” He looks over at his Dad, waits until Steven looks up, his gaze haunted. “Human Traffickers. And worse. Tell me I’m wrong.”

With that he pushes himself up once more, leaving the room and then the house, taking Lilly outside.


	6. Chapter 6

Will comes back sweating, the heat outside still prominent, the house a beacon of homeliness, calling him in.

_A boat at sea, still._

Mumbled voices, coming from the dining room, the smell of chocolate and rum heavy in the air. Will heads upstairs, the shower quick. He combs his hair with his hands, pondering whether he should shave. _Stop stalling._ He sighs, heading down again, bending down to scratch Lilly behind her ears on the way, her tail thumping tiredly on the floor.

He enters the dining room, pausing just inside the door, the sight which greets him burning itself into his memories. Hannibal and his father are sitting next to each other in pushed back chairs, empty bowls and rests of fruits still on the table. They are talking energetically, the subject cooking fish of all things apparently, his father gesticulating, his cheeks quite red, eyes a bit glassy. Will smiles, his gaze switching to Hannibal, seeing echoes of intoxication in him as well, though more muted. He waves at them to keep going when they turn to acknowledge him, sinking into a chair with relief taking all his strength, feeling happy and weak.

He reaches for the still filled bowl on the table, leaning back and taking a spoonful of pudding with strawberry cream, humming in delight as the flavors explode in his mouth. His Dad takes a swig of his rum, silence enveloping them all suddenly, broken only by the sound of the waves and palm trees outside. He mumbles a bit, the words seemingly hard to get out. “Your criteria are understandable, son.”

Will swallows, trying to hold onto his relaxation, noting that Hannibal sits very still. Steven exhales, looking down in his glass. “It wasn’t much part of the original reporting, you know. And, from a humanitarian and base-morale stand-point, it shouldn’t make much of a difference, I guess.” He takes another sip of his rum, his voice gruff around the edges. “However, we all know that’s oftentimes a load of bullshit. Humanity is better off without that kind of scum.”

Hannibal comes to life again next to him, his tone gentle and Will realizes he must have missed some bonding between them while he was out, because there is no hesitation or stilted expressions now, just truth. “We hunt the rude, Steven. On a certain level. I am relieved you approve.”

Steven Graham harrumphs. “Well, not approve, I guess.” He hesitates, looking into his glass. “Accept, I think.” He looks up a gain, pinning Will with a sharp gaze that belies his intoxication. “If you keep sticking to those rules, that is.”

Will inhales sharply, telling himself it is not a sniff. “You have my word. Apart from Jack that is.”

Hannibal interjects. “Jack has been another kind of rude, yes. But then his hunt is echoed on his side and therefore cannot be compared.”

Will takes another spoonful of pudding, taking his time to swallow the delicious chocolate flavored texture down. “And will commence soon. He has checked into a hotel near the town square. I saw him when I crossed it to get Lilly a drink of water at the fountain.”

Hannibal tilts his head. “He thinks us in the old parts of town?”

Will shrugs, his tone light. “Like the apartment you were in in Florence back then, I guess.”

Steven sighs, looking outside at the moonlit sky for a moment. “Such a shame, really. I mean, don’t we have to leave when he comes here?”

Will grins and Hannibal turns to him, his expression a delighted contentment. “Indeed, Steven. I hope you will come with us.”

It is not said as a question and Will swallows the sudden influx of emotions down, cursing silently at himself. His father shoots him a look and Will nods jerkily, not trusting his voice. Steven downs the last of his rum, smacks his lips and shrugs, his expression a tad too innocent. “Well, what can I do? Guess you’ll have to take me along then. I’ve just found you again after all, and there is so much to speak of still.”

Hannibal smiles, his teeth flashing. “Good. I will have everything arranged.” He looks over at Will, raising his eyebrows, his red eyes seemingly glowing. “I think a similar climate will be advisable.”

Will clears his throat, chuckling softly. “Yeah. Please.”

Hannibal turns serious for a moment, watching Will closely. “What is your estimation, beloved?”

Will inhales, looking away for a second, his mind unfolding the possibilities. “He didn’t see me. And I don’t think…”, Will hesitates, his tone changing slightly, Hannibal’s expression changing with it, “I do not think he will use my father as cannon fodder, right?. He will bring the local police, in two days time, I think.”

Hannibal nods, his eyes sparkling.

Will raises his chin, pressing his lips together, knowing Hannibal knows well to replace his words.

_We understand each other so well now._

_We truly are conjoined._

********

Steven Graham snores heavily in the guest room, his pulse steady. Will looks down at his father in the dark, his voice almost inaudible. “You sure his heart can take it?”

Hannibal embraces him softly from behind, his lips tickling Will’s ear shell. “I’m sure, beloved. The medication is precise. Please do not worry. It is better than to have him interfere suddenly.” He lets Will go again, returning to packing Steven’s things away.

Will hovers, unwilling to interfere, soaking up the quietness and intensity. He surprises himself when he blurts out, almost too loud: “Why is it we don’t know what to call what we are to each other?”

Hannibal straightens up, his eyes glinting in the darkened room. “We know what we are to each other, do we not, beloved?.”

Will turns to face him directly, spreading his hands out a bit. “I have no words though, for us. You are… “, he grimaces, his voice dropping to a whisper, his heart beating hard, almost painful, “everything.”

Hannibal smirks, his voice low and gentle. “I love you too, Will.”

Will blinks, unable to put the sudden dissatisfaction he feels despite the warmth Hannibal’s words trigger within him into words, stepping over to the bed to look down at his father again. He exhales, trying to explain, knowing Hannibal is so attuned that he can feel it but then there is a single chime-like ‘click’ somewhere, a high and short note and Will is suddenly calm, the world and its petty concerns dropping away. He turns and places his hand onto Hannibal’s shoulder, squeezing softly. Holding him in place. There is a single raised eyebrow, a calm acceptance in Hannibal’s face and stance.

_And hunger in his gaze._

Will leans up, breathing the words against Hannibal’s lips. “I’m sure.”

And then he turns and leaves the room, the knife in his hand catching the light when he turns the corner.


	7. Chapter 7

“Hello Jack.”

The dark figure in the living room freezes for a long moment before a sigh can be heard, followed by the sound of someone pulling a face mask off.

“Hello Will.” The face mask is thrown onto the sofa with a soft thud. “I should’ve known.”

Will bends down, turning the small side lamp on with a soft click. His tone is soft. “Hope dies hardest.”

Jack Crawford nods gravely, arms hanging loosely at his sides. “That it does.”

Will looks him over slowly, taking his time, making no move to hide his knife. Jack has come with several guns and knives attached to a black combat gear set, tear gas capsules and tasers. No handcuffs or plastic binders.

_Interesting_.

Will tilts his head, his tone kindness-clad frost. “Not interested in catching us alive, I see.”

Jack presses his lips together for a moment, his dark gaze tired, his eyes blood-shot and yellow. “No. Not anymore.”

Will turns and walks a few steps, watching as Jack carefully edges away from the window. “One last attempt to catch us, Jack? Before kidney-failure fells you? Or is it the liver?” Will doesn’t wait for an answer, indicating the window. “No worries, Jack, he won’t jump your back. That would be tacky.”

Jack Crawford grunts, looking away, his expression pained for a moment. Will narrows his eyes. “Speaking of tacky.” He turns back to Jack, letting fury seep into his tone. “Don’t you think it is beyond tacky to bring my father into the middle of all this, Jack? You could have come before him, could have made him stay in the States, or waited until he had left again.” He lips his lips, his eyes throwing blue fire. “But no, you had to try to take us down the first night he is here, after only a few hours of…” Will pauses, breathing heavily, trying to rein in his emotions. He swallows, his tone gruff as he finishes the sentence. “After only a few hours of bonding.”

Jack shrugs, his tone unapologetic. “Seemed like the best chance. With just a bit of luck both of you would be distracted and drunk.” He pulls a grimace, spreading his hands, his tone heavily sarcastic. “Well, that worked very well indeed.” He lets his hands sink down again, hanging loosely at his sides, swinging a bit back and forth. “It had to be you, didn’t it. Your murder husband has sent you.”

_Murder husband._

_But we’re not husbands._

_Not yet._

Will smiles sharply, without an inch of humor. “The lamb taking down the lion.”

Jack nods, more to himself. “Becoming the lion.”

Will shakes his head, his tone a bit wistful. “I have always been and will always be both.”

Jack sighs, his voice gruff. “I’m sorry, Will.”

The shots ring only with small popping sounds, the wood of the door frame behind Will splintering as if in slow motion, his right side aching as he hits the floor. _He must have had a gun behind his back too. _Will stops breathing, listening for any sounds beyond the thundering in his ears. There is the soft rustling of cloth on the other side of the room but no steps. _Jack is probably adjusting his stance, trying to get a better shot._ Will presses his face onto the floor, the coolness taking some of the wild adrenaline with it, leaving calm determination in its wake. He cuts his palm, watching the blood well up. He looks over his shoulder and then hurls the blood into the hall, making for a path of droplets.

_Let’s make sure he thinks he got you. _Will moans, softly, shuffling around as if in pain, while nimbly getting into a squat behind the sofa. _He is slightly to my right. _He kicks the little table with the lamp and it crashes to the ground, the light bulb shattering, dumping them both in ringing darkness.

Will tramples his feet as if running and then throws himself to the side as quietly as possible, cowering off to the side behind one of the armchairs, straining to hear something.

There. _His breathing is labored, probably due to the strain the alcoholism is taking on his system. _Will positions himself slowly, all his senses trained towards the door frame. Seconds pass, the energy in the room dense and stifling. And then a flashlight lights up, directly at Will, blinding him and he hurls himself towards it with a grimace, grunting when he barrels into Jack.

They tumble to the ground, wrestling, the flashlight rolling away a few feet, dumping them in surreal lighting. Will’s mind is blank, everything in autopilot, his hands finding their target easily. Will grunts as a knife enters his side but he doesn’t relent his grip on Jack’s windpipe, his legs locked around Jack’s torso. He hisses, spitting little droplets of blood onto Jack’s face from where he bit it accidentally just now. “Hours and hours of training, Jack.” He bends forward, his sweaty hair obscuring his vision. “And more cuts than I can count.” He grins, his right side prickling as he feels Hannibal step silently closer. “He’ll kiss it better.”

Jack tries to twist the knife weakly, his face turning purple, but Hannibal bends down with a small admonishing sound, prying Jack’s fingers off the handle. He kneels down behind Will, his chin on Will’s shoulder, hands lightly on Will’s hips.

Jack gurgles and his left hands grapple at Will’s hands now, trying to find purchase, scratching. Will smiles serenely and tilts his head back, silently asking for a kiss and Hannibal moans, obliging instantly, his tongue going deep. The part again, breathing heavily, and Hannibal licks his lips, addressing Jack, who is only struggling weakly now, eyes fixed on them. “How nice of you to come by, Jack, and give Will some exercise. And douse him in such a delightful aroma.” He grins sharply, his eyes hollow and sharklike in the faint light. “Blood on my beloved’s skin is my favorite taste.”

Will rolls his eyes and jabs an elbow into Hannibal’s ribs, making him grunt. Hannibal bites playfully at Will’s neck, humming as he sees Jack’s movements cease, his body relax. His tone is slightly disappointed, definitely wistful. “And so another hunt comes to an end. Slightly anti-climatic, too, if I may say so.”

Will snorts, regretting it instantly, the pain in his side a livid, vicious thing. He hisses through clenched teeth, his tone nonetheless amused. “Speak for yourself, dear, and get that thing out of me.”

Hannibal presses a kiss to the soft skin behind Will’s ear, and then moves back and to the side, his fingers ghosting over the edges of the wound. He hums in consideration and Will rolls his eyes once more, waiting impatiently. A moment passes and Will frowns and then the knife is pulled out, the relief and pain cancelling themselves out in a blinding hot stab.

Fingers press onto the wound and Hannibal kneels down next to Will, pressing until the wound oozes only sluggishly, the blood painting Hannibal’s hands black in the pale light. Will looks over his left shoulder and smiles a wry little smile at Hannibal, feeling weirdly unmoored, utterly free somehow. He swallows. “All the shadows of our past now conquered.”

Hannibal nods, his shadow against the wall a grotesque thing. “And the future an undiscovered country.” He fumbles with his pockets and Will frowns, wondering and then he does not anymore, all the air gone, all the oxygen disappeared.

Hannibal holds the ring out for him patiently, the black diamonds in it like glittering black holes, the brushed platinum inviting the light to be swallowed. Will shakes his head once, gasping a laugh, shaking a bit with fading adrenaline. He needs three tries to get the words out, his throat raw. “Why now, Hannibal?”

Hannibal tilts his head to the side, his voice brittle and yet strong, full of delicate emotion. “We had to conquer our past first, Will, in order to look forward. And fate would have it that you could do both, today, and so it is only fitting that I would offer it to you now as well, my hands already bound to your soul by threads of blood. Your blood. Sacrificed in the fight which cut us free, at last.”

Will closes his eyes for a second, feeling faint, and then he twists around, unheeding of the wound, his hands coming up to frame Hannibal’s face, gently, oh so gently. The kiss just _is_ suddenly, eternal and alive, _necessary_ and true.

Hannibal breaks the kiss after long minutes, separating them just enough to touch his forehead to Will’s, his hands fumbling to put the ring onto Will’s left ring finger blindly. It glides on, helped and hence smudged by the blood and Will snickers, his voice low. “It truly is very fitting.” Hannibal chuckles with him, raising his head to press a kiss to Will’s forehead.

He gets up slowly, helping Will get up as well, their hands entwined. Hannibal’s voice is rough, his eyes glittering in the dark. “I’m glad you can properly be led down the aisle to the altar now.”

Will, in the process of stepping over Jack’s body, hesitates and promptly stumbles, catching himself on the back of the sofa, cursing. He blinks, pushing himself up slowly, grumbling. “So that is why you encouraged me so uncharacteristically unambiguously to get back in touch with my father?”

Hannibal has the grace to look a bit sheepish, though he exudes definite contentment. “And your peace of mind, of course, mylimasis.”

Will nods to himself, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Of course.”

He exhales, looking up to the ceiling for a moment, and then around the dark room, frowning. He shoots a look at the snoring little anti-guard dog, a wry smile on his lips. “Let us relocate to the one in Puerto Rico, what do you think?”

Hannibal smiles, leaning forward to press a kiss to the corner of Will’s mouth. “An excellent choice.”

Will shoots him a look from the corner of his eyes, pulling a face. “You bought the plane tickets already, didn’t you.”

Hannibal doesn’t answer, his face a mask of delighted amusement in the pale light, the shadows twisting behind him, twitching restlessly. Will allows them to take shape for a moment, watching the antlers grow. He bends down, retrieving the small but sharp knife Hannibal pulled out, holding it out to Hannibal. Hunger enters his tone, a sharp desire, allowed now, cherished. “I’ll leave it to you to choose.” He presses the knife into Hannibal’s hand, looking down at Jack’s now peaceful face. “Take something easy to stomach though. Dad will have a hard time enough to get over that little family detail.” He presses his lips together, pondering for a while, Hannibal waiting patiently. “I would like to honor him by giving him the peace he so longed for, whether he knew it or not. Let him catch us here, if only in death.”

Hannibal inclines his head, a sharp smile gracing his lips. “As you wish, beloved.”

Will smiles, reaching up to push Hannibal’s bangs from his forehead. “Sow me up first?”

He heads up the stairs, checking on his father when he passes the guest room._ I wonder how long it will take for him to notice the ring._ He snorts. _Probably a while._ He feels Hannibal’s aura envelop him in dark desire when he undresses in the bathroom, the moment when Hannibal’s tongue touches the cut a thrilling mixture of pain and pleasure.

The moonlight illuminates them in black and white as they writhe together, celebrating mortality and life, their energies conjoining, raw and irrefutable.

They leave the house in the early morning hours, Will’s Dad still groggy and out of it, not questioning the ‘why’. Jack Crawford _watches_ them leave, seated on the sofa, his eyes on their old passports in his lap, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

Will closes the door behind himself, the ring on his finger glinting darkly, turning to face his father and soon-to-be husband, the little mutt jumping excitedly around his feet.

He exhales, the bonds between them tightening to steel fastenings, feeling utterly free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written a while after my father's death's anniversary. I miss him.
> 
> I know it reflects into the story and/but I hope you liked it nonetheless!
> 
> I owe @Sally-the-Chicken (https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sally_the_Chicken/profile) the deepest gratitude for conveying the depth of their feelings so well, for getting what I tried to convey and pour it into such a beautiful, beautiful art.


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